


Masked Felon

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow [6]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Dishonored AU, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medium Chaos (Dishonored), Snarky Corvo, Violence, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: With Delilah gone, Emily is now under Corvo’s protection. The Whalers and Loyalists plan to help the young Empress reclaim her Empire.





	1. The Royal Physician

The door opened, for the second time that evening, and Sokolov was fast running out of patience for the Watch.

“Confound it,” he barked.

His scowl halted the Watch officer in his tracks.

“Did I not leave clear instructions for you and your blasted men to leave me be and let me work in peace? Please,” the physician added for good measure, though his tone remained sour. “These are delicate experiments I’m conducting, that require solitude. Do I make myself clear, Corporal?”

“My apologies, Royal Physician.” The officer stepped back outside, sheepish. “There’s been some trouble on Kaldwin’s Bridge. Bottle Street gang hiding out in the buildings. I’ve been stationed outside the greenhouse just in case–”

“Then what, by the Outsider, are you doing _in here_?” Sokolov asked, exasperated. “Does this look like the outside of the greenhouse, man? Because I assure you, it isn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” The officer pulled the door closed. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

His footsteps rounded the greenhouse, beginning to pace along the balcony outside. Sokolov grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

The mysterious events of the last few months, High Overseer Campbell’s branding, and then the deaths of Morgan and Custis Pendleton, had increased tension and paranoia in the city by tenfold.

Sokolov knew he had Hiram Burrows to thank for the entourage of guards stationed within his home.

“Outsider forbid if something were to happen to the Lord Regent’s precious physician,” Sokolov muttered. He wasn’t an imbecile. He knew why Burrows invested so much into his safety. “What would you do, Hiram, without my Arc Pylons and Walls of Light to keep assassins from your door?”

And they would come for the Regent’s head, Sokolov had no doubt, were his inventions not there to stop them.

Things weren’t like this under Jessamine, the Physician thought bitterly. He used to be free to come and go from his home as he pleased. He could paint in his spare time and test new theories between his plague study. And not be interrupted every few seconds by idiotic Watch guards with their idiotic excuses.

A groan from one of the cages drew his attention.

“Ah, awake I see.” Sokolov placed his clipboard down on the workbench, and approached his patient. “How are you feeling?”

The woman blinked up at him hazily, the skin around her eyes crinkling and sallow. “Much–” She broke off into a cough. “Much worse. Do I have the plague?”

“Oh, hush now. You’re not going to die, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sokolov answered briskly. Impatiently. “You should thank me. Soon, we’ll have a cure for this terrible plague.”

“But the pain,” the woman pressed on, her voice strained. “Can’t you give me something for the pain?”

Sokolov had long since passed the stage of guilt. His work required focus, not compassion. What would the world come to, he considered briefly, if renowned physicians such as himself began to practice compassion?

“I do have many pain remedies, yes,” he admitted. “Alas, I cannot give them to you. They would interfere with my research, and we can’t have that.” The woman opened her mouth, ready to argue, and Sokolov raised a hand. “Tomorrow morning, the guards will remove you from this cell.”

“Really? You’ll release me tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Sokolov squinted, inspecting the red lines around the woman’s irises. It was doubtful she’d survive the night. He’d have to take some blood samples from her corpse before the weeper transformation began. “Late morning, perhaps.”

The woman nodded slowly, falsely reassured, and she returned to huddling in one corner of the cell. Her movements were already becoming affected by the plague, Sokolov derided; she was slow and stumbling, and her flesh was taking on a greyish hue. Perhaps those blood samples would have to be taken within the next few hours, just to be safe.

Sokolov turned back towards the workbench, intending to make a reminder before he got too caught up in his experiments. A figure in a long, dark coat stood between him and his clipboard, blocking his path.

“What–” Sokolov cut himself off, taking a cautious step back. The door was still firmly closed, and he hadn’t heard anyone enter.

“Sokolov,” the stranger greeted, his voice low and even.

He wasn’t an officer. The Watch didn’t wear clothes like that, and they certainly didn’t wear masks. Whoever he was, he was tall, and the blade and crossbow in either hand only added to his eerie presence.

Sokolov swallowed his sudden bout of nerves. “How did you get past all the guards?”

The glassy eye of the stranger’s mask glinted as it caught the fading light from the windows. Sokolov suddenly realised he could no longer hear the Corporal’s footsteps pacing on the balcony outside.

“Fine,” Sokolov scorned at the stranger’s silence, crossing his arms simply to do something with them. “Stand there like a mute fool for all I care. I don’t know how you got past all the defences, but if you wanted me dead, I doubt I’d still be standing here. So what is it that you want?” he insisted. “Money? Elixir? I have plenty of both.”

The stranger’s fingers flexed around the handle of his crossbow.

“Speak,” Sokolov demanded. “Surely you understand there will be dire consequence if you are to harm me. I am the Royal Physician, head of the Academy of Natural Philosophy.”

“No harm will come to you, _Royal Physician_.” Icy derision coloured the stranger’s voice. “For now, at least.”

The crossbow tilted towards him, and Sokolov felt the sting as something pierced his neck. Whatever toxin the dart held, it took affect instantly, his muscles becoming numb and his legs slackening. Landing on his back, the last thing Sokolov saw was the stranger’s skull-like mask peering down at him, before he succumbed to the heavy pull of sleep.

~~~

“Outsider’s eyes.” The boatman’s eyebrows disappeared under his hairline as he took in the sight of a snoring Anton Sokolov. “The Royal Physician himself.”

“A poorly guarded Royal Physician,” Corvo corrected, pulling off his mask. The cool evening air felt good on his neck, and he savoured it for a few seconds before laying Sokolov down in the Amaranth.

“Havelock wanted that mask to stay on, sir,” Samuel reminded him. “At all times.”

“It will, once Piero fixes it again.”

Samuel didn’t argue. He kept an eye on the docks while Corvo made sure their new captive was still out cold. “Can’t say I’ve heard a peep from the Watch the whole time I’ve been here,” the boatman said, admiration clear in his tone. “You mustn’t have been seen once.”

“I never am.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Samuel chuckled, the fond sound of it making Corvo train his gaze on the floor self-consciously. “I still can’t believe my old eyes at times, with some of the things you manage to pull off.”

Corvo didn’t answer, unsure how to respond to the praise. But the boatman never seemed to mind his silence.

“It’s a good job we didn’t let Quinn or Arden tag along with us, eh?” Samuel added. “We’d have half the city on our tails by now.”

Corvo’s hum of agreement was cut short, as distant, panicked voices began to carry from Sokolov’s house.

“We better think about making ourselves scarce, sir,” the boatman remarked. “Sounds like they’ve realised Sokolov’s missing. And no doubt our friends back at the Hound Pits are eager to see us to return.”

Corvo nodded, and offered his hand, helping Samuel into the boat. “Let’s go, then. There’s still a lot to get done.”


	2. The Hound Pits

Samuel steered the Amaranth around the old factories, and the Hound Pits pub came into view. Emily’s tower stood proudly over the area, so tall that it blocked out the moon, and clouds circled around the upper rooms. Corvo wanted a bed up there instead of inside the pub; most of Wrenhaven and the neighbouring roads were visible from the tower’s windows. He’d be able to see if the Watch was wandering too close.

Though, there were always a few Whalers stationed around the District, keeping an eye on the barricades. And considering the short time they had been with the conspiracy, Corvo was surprised by how much had gone to plan so far.

Interrogating the Royal Physician was the next step. Martin’s idea. Sokolov knew the identity of the Regent’s mistress and financial support. They’d get the woman’s name, then eliminate her. That would leave Burrows vulnerable enough to reach.

“Looks like someone’s been watching for us.”

Corvo followed Samuel’s gaze to the pub’s rooftop. A dim, red shape was settled there, facing out to the river.

“I imagine whatever the two of you were arguing about before we left this afternoon involved him having to stay behind?”

“Boat only carries three people.” And they had needed the third space for Sokolov.

Corvo watched the shape move indoors, now that he had seen them return.

He glared sidelong at Sokolov. The man’s snoring was becoming obnoxious. “Do sounds carry over the river?”

“If they’re loud enough. For our sake, we better hope most folks are indoors tonight,” Samuel answered, also glancing at the Physician with mild concern.

Corvo caught sight of Quinn and Arden on the dock, perched atop some crates with a game of Nancy laid out between them. Drawing into the port, Samuel cut the boat’s engine, and the pair of Whalers rose to meet them.

“Shit,” Quinn greeted. “You actually got him?”

“That was the point,” Corvo said shortly. He stepped up onto the shore. “Should we bring him inside?”

“We’ll do it,” Quinn said. “Got the key to the hound cages. The Admiral said to store him in there for now.”

Arden bent to sling Sokolov over one shoulder. “Ugly fucker, ain’t he?”

“Beard could do with a trim,” Quinn agreed, poking the Physician’s mass of facial hair. “Let’s go get him comfortable.” He grinned back at Corvo as they headed across the courtyard. “Good luck with the boss, Attano. He’s been in a right mood all afternoon, and something tells me it’s your fault.”

Corvo glared at their retreating backs.

Samuel cleared his throat quietly. “Better let the others know we’re back, sir.”

They made their way up the stone steps. Corvo noted that Piero’s workshop was closed, but the faint buzzing of a drill sounded from behind the shutters. The inventor never seemed to sleep.

He turned to Samuel before they reached the door to the pub. “I can go alone. Get some sleep.”

“That’s kind of you, sir, but as long as you’re up and about–”

“Samuel.” Corvo jerked his head towards the boatman’s makeshift quarters. “You’ve been awake for two days. Go and rest. I’ll get you if I need you.”

Samuel gave a tired smile. “Right you are, Corvo. You get some rest soon, too. Outsider knows, you deserve it after everything you’ve done these last few months.”

Corvo’s gaze remained on him, making sure the boatman reached his bed. Then he shouldered open the door. The pub’s lighting was muted, but it still harried his vision for a few seconds, contrasted to the darkness outside.

“Corvo!” Quick footsteps raced closer, and skinny arms threw themselves around his middle. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back.”

He squeezed Emily’s shoulder, and didn't try to pry her away. “You should be asleep.”

“Not until you got back,” Emily said firmly. She looked up with a wide, impish grin. “You’re not wearing the mask. Havelock said you were supposed to always wear it when you’re out.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She snorted at that, the noise childish and genuine. Nothing close to how an Empress should sound. Corvo’s heart ached each time he remembered who she was. Empress of the Isles, not just a kid like the novices back in Rudshore, uncivilised and carefree like children should be.

He caught Callista Curnow’s eye, sat in one of the booths. Her cheeks were flushed with exasperation as she looked between Corvo and Emily.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Corvo,” she said. “She refused to go to bed until you’d returned. We got through five stories.” She gestured to the large pile of books on the table.

“I liked the one about the pirates. They were witches who could summon storms and make whales do what they want,” Emily told him excitedly. “Do you think that’s true? Can witches really do that?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Have you ever met a witch?”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth, not willing to lie. But the girl had enough to be afraid of already without adding Delilah to the mix.

“A story for another time, Empress.” It could wait. He’d tell her some day.

Emily looked ready to pester him for a real answer, but Martin and Havelock had spotted them from across the bar. They crossed the room in a few swift strides, expressions ripe with tension.

“Sokolov’s in the cages,” Corvo told them before they approached, and the relief that followed his words was plain. “The Watch knows he’s gone, but I wasn’t seen and we weren’t followed. We’re still safe.”

“Thank the Stars,” Martin said quietly, almost in disbelief.

“You do not fail to impress,” Havelock added.

Corvo noticed that Emily had half-hidden behind his coat. The girl was still wary of most of the people here, Pendleton and Daud especially; the former because he looked like his brothers, and the latter for obvious reasons. Emily seemed to like Samuel and Callista well enough, but Corvo was still the only one she spoke freely to.

“We’ll approach Sokolov on the morrow,” the Admiral said “For now, you’ve done enough. We can begin the interrogation once you’re rested.”

Havelock left through the corridor. Corvo assumed he was going to the meeting room, to plan the Royal Physician’s questioning.

Martin stayed behind. “I must say, I was becoming concerned,” he confessed. “I expected you to return before sundown.”

“Kaldwin’s Bridge is well guarded,” Corvo said. “You're overestimating me if you thought it’d be a fast job.”

The Overseer chuckled. “Perhaps, though can you blame me? You are capable, with the things you manage to accomplish. Is it so unreasonable to have expected you back here before the evening settled in?”

“Yes,” Corvo said shortly, gleaming another chuckle from Martin. “Go and help the Admiral,” he urged, giving the Overseer’s arm a shove towards the door. “You’re the strategist.”

“I am, indeed.” Martin conceded, giving Corvo a wave over his shoulder. “Tomorrow, then. We shan’t start the interrogation without you, I’ll make sure.”

He disappeared up the stairwell, and Corvo shook his head. He had come to grow fond of Martin, as impossible as that would have sounded a few weeks ago. Since their misunderstanding was resolved, they had grown closer.

They were friends, perhaps, although Corvo wasn’t sure he was ready to admit as much yet.

“I made a list of all the swearwords the Admiral used this afternoon, while he was waiting for you,” Emily piped up from behind him, after the Overseer had gone. “But Callista made me throw it away.”

Corvo gave the Empress a gentle push. “Go to bed.”

“Not yet!” She scampered to the table, taking one of the books and holding it close to her chest. “One more story?”

“Emily.” Corvo beckoned her over to him, eyes darting towards Callista pointedly. Emily grinned as she dropped the book and hurried back, leaning in close so he could whisper. “Go to bed, and I’ll teach you that Tyvian chokehold tomorrow.”

Emily’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

Corvo nodded, and the girl skipped towards the staircase without another argument.

Callista sighed as she got to her feet, having heard perfectly well the agreement that had been reached between them. “She’s supposed to be doing her lessons tomorrow.”

“This is a lesson. Of sorts.”

Callista raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. “Goodnight, Corvo.” She granted him a smile as she trailed Emily to the stairs. “I’m glad you and Samuel made it back safely.”

The governess hadn’t tried to hide her contempt for the other Whalers stationed there. Besides Thomas, she tended to avoid them altogether. But she seemed to have warmed to Corvo quickly after they’d met. Although Callista hadn’t said it, she knew he had rescued her uncle from Campbell, and her gratitude was clear each time Corvo met her gaze. Perhaps Thomas had told her.

The main bar was now void of people, so Corvo left the way he came in. Black smoke immediately caught his eye, drifting out from the now open shutters of Piero’s workshop.

The inventor himself was leaned over the metal balcony, expression twisted in disappointment as he coughed through the smoke cloud.

“Did something explode again?”

Piero shot him a withering look from above. “Nothing quite so dramatic, I assure you. I just used the wrong components, and...” He searched for a gratifying excuse, before giving in. “Yes. Something seems to have exploded.”

Corvo frowned when something inside the workshop sparked, causing another thick cloud of smoke to waft towards the sky.

“I won’t ask.”

“Thank you.” The inventor removed his spectacles, wiping the black smudges from them. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Corvo, I have to get back to work.” Another violent spark came from inside. “In a few minutes.”

“Now that he’s here, perhaps Sokolov can solve whatever issue you’re having,” Corvo remarked as he walked onto the courtyard.

He listened to Piero’s insulted intake of breath, but blinked to the roof before he heard the rant that likely followed.

The door to the attic room was ajar, and Corvo sidestepped the tripwire set beneath it, connected to a snare loaded with sleep darts. Old habits, Corvo knew. Daud had never liked staying in new places without some kind of security.

The current residents of the Hound Pits knew not to enter that room without announcing themselves first.

Only two lanterns illuminated the bedroom, leaving most corners of the room doused in shadows. Corvo hated the lack of windows in the attic. He missed Daud’s chambers in Rudshore, where light could reach them through the broken ceiling.

He shrugged off his coat, hanging it over the edge of a chair. He placed his mask down on the desk, and steeled himself for the argument he knew was coming.

“I’ve ordered the men to stay away from Sokolov’s house for years.” Daud paused, to take a drag from the cigarette held between his fingers. “And in you walk, as though you own the place.”

He was still angry. Corvo could hear it.

“If I knew you’d be such a joy to come back to,” Corvo began, focused on kicking off his boots, “I’d have stayed out a while longer.”

Daud grunted, and the end of the cigarette glowed for a moment, lighting up the jagged scar beneath his eye. “Outsider knows, I’d get some peace if you didn’t come back at all.”

The remark stung, but Corvo knew the rough edges of Daud’s voice too well. When his bitterness was genuine, and when it merely cloaked some deeper emotion underneath.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t come.”

Daud’s eyes hardened. “We were supposed to do this together. Do you think I appreciate being left behind, not knowing where you are?”

“The size of Samuel’s boat isn’t my fault.” Corvo bit the words out, sharper than he meant them.

Their fight had been hanging over him since he’d left for Kaldwin’s Bridge. Samuel’s boat wouldn’t have taken them both, not with Sokolov needing the extra space. Corvo didn’t see the point in arguing about something they had no control over.

He circled around the bed, movements calm as though he were approaching their wild wolfhounds instead. Daud sat on the edge of the mattress, and Corvo kneeled in front, gently taking his jaw to angle his gaze down to him.

“Can we stop this now? I don’t want to fight.”

Daud's brow furrowed, as though he was surprised by Corvo's directness. Corvo didn’t understand that. If people didn’t say what they wanted, how would others ever know?

Corvo stretched up slightly, his nose brushing against Daud’s, and he pressed their foreheads together. He was exhausted. Sokolov’s house was a slow trek from where Samuel had docked, and the Physician himself hadn’t been easy to carry from the greenhouse. Corvo’s muscles ached, and all he wanted was a bed and Daud’s warmth.

The cigarette was flicked into the faucet nearby, and Daud’s fingers curled into his hair. “Forgive me.” A kiss, apologetic and lingering, pressed to the side of Corvo’s jaw. “I don’t mean to be cruel. I don’t like the thought of you going somewhere like that alone.”

“I know.”

Corvo let himself be pulled up, straddling Daud’s lap instead. All traces of the man’s anger had gone, replaced by the truth he’d been keeping hidden underneath; unadorned relief that Corvo had returned.

“I wasn’t alone,” Corvo added. “Samuel was with me.”

Daud’s bitter chuckle rumbled against him. “How comforting. I’m certain the boatman would be a formidable asset in a fight.”

Corvo was certain Samuel would try his best, and end up getting himself killed. It was why Corvo was always so cautious around the Watch. If he wasn’t seen, he wasn’t followed, and his allies were put in less danger.

He dropped his head on Daud’s shoulder, resting against the fabric of his shirt. “Did you visit Rudshore?”

Daud mumbled that he did, threading the tangles loose from Corvo’s hair. “Rulfio said it’s nice without you stirring up trouble there. Which I assumed means he misses you.”

Corvo still wished Rulfio had come with them to the Hound Pits. He’d made Corvo feel at home, safe, after first arriving in an unfamiliar place. He’d doubtlessly be able to do the same for Emily. He just had that way about him; a kind voice and endless patience. And Emily wasn’t comfortable here with these people, though she tried to hide it.

She and Corvo were alike in that regard.

Rough hands slipped beneath his shirt, and began roaming over the Arcane Bond's tattoos on his waist. “You’re troubled.”

“Tired,” Corvo corrected. He shivered when Daud started mouthing at the skin beneath his ear. “And pissed off. I hate that mask.”

Daud made a sound in the back of his throat. “You never liked wearing one. Perhaps I was too lenient with you during your training.”

He’d never forced Corvo to wear the whaling masks. Corvo had assumed, since he’d always favoured stealth over force, that Daud had simply considered it needless for him to have one.

“You know why the Admiral wants you to wear it, don’t you. Its design alone should make it obvious.”

“It’s an intimidation tactic. In case I’m seen.” Corvo glared into Daud’s shoulder. “I’m never seen.”

“I don’t believe the Admiral shares your overconfidence.”

“I’m not overconfident.”

“You are. And you’re pigheaded.” The insult was fond and familiar. Daud’s shoulder nudged his chest. “You know it’s true. Stop sulking.”

“I’m not.”

Daud laughed at that; a rumbling, full-bodied sound that Corvo doubted anyone but himself had ever heard. Daud eased down until his back was against the mattress, and Corvo was curled against his chest, head resting over his heart.

“Stop sulking,” Daud repeated, “and rest. You’ve done enough for today.” The words were pressed into his hair.

Corvo considered it an order. He closed his eyes, and sleep came quickly.


	3. The Interrogation

Sokolov opened his eyes and blinked against the lights hanging above. He decided he had been greeted by worse places. Far worse places.

The smell of the warehouse he’d been _stuffed_ in wasn’t odorous or unpleasant, but it carried the remnants of blood and damp fur, and rust from the metal crates piled up around his enclosure.

The Hound Pits’ cages. He recognised it once his brain had woken up a little more. He’d come here several times to watch the dog fights, in his younger days. He must have been taken all the way to the Old Port District while he’d slept.

“Bother it all,” he muttered, rubbing his temples in an attempt to ease his ferocious headache. An after-effect of the dart he’d been injected with, most likely. Whatever the sleeping serum was, it was clearly sophisticated. “If that blasted Piero had something to do with this, by the Outsider–”

“Hush your whinging. We’re in the middle of a game.”

Sokolov turned his head to the other side of his cage. Outside the bars, a small table was set out, and sat around it were three people. Between them were piles of cards and coin.

“There’s no use complaining, Royal Physician,” the man who’d spoken, light haired and slim, continued. “Not when you’re stuck in there with naught you can do about it.” He flipped a card over, and his companions groaned at their own hands. “Best get yourself comfortable, and make do with the circumstances as they are.”

“Aye, Feodor’s right.” The tallest, a Morley man from the sound of it, tossed his cards down onto the table. “Ain’t no telling how long you’ll be here.”

“That’s not strictly true,” Feodor said thoughtfully. “If we average how long it’s taken for the others to get _this_ far, and how long it’ll take to break him into assisting us,” he jerked his thumb in Sokolov’s direction, “then we can surely work out when we’ll be finished here for good. It’s simple mathematics.”

The Morley man huffed. “Nothin’ simple about it, Fee.”

“I’m with Arden, there.” The third – a young boy or girl, Sokolov couldn’t tell – started to collect all the cards together. “You’re good with numbers and that sort of shit.”

“Language, Aeolos,” Feodor scolded. “Perhaps if you’d both spent more time with Chester instead of with Rulfio in the training room, learning to bludgeon people, you’d both understand it all a little better,” he said tersely.

“And, perhaps, if you removed that stick from your arse, we’d like you a little better,” Aeolos replied.

By the time Arden's sniggering stopped, Sokolov had it figured out.

“I know who you are.” His eyes skimmed over their whaling masks, lying beneath their chairs, and over their uniforms, dark and tight-fitting. Unmistakable to someone in the know, as Sokolov prided himself on being a majority of the time. “Daud’s men, aren’t you. What, by the Void, could you possibly want with me?”

Arden scoffed. “Ain’t Daud that wants you.”

“Who, then?” Sokolov pressed, coming to stand at the edge of his cage. He scowled out at them from between the bars. “I warn you, there will be repercussions when I’m found.”

“When?” Feodor repeated, amused. “My dear man, you won’t be found.”

“Ain’t a soul who knows where you were taken, or who took you.” Arden kicked his stool backwards and stood. “So you’re gonna stay put here ‘till the Boss says otherwise.”

Sokolov made a noise in the back of his throat, his own confidence a little wavered by the Morley man's own. “I see Daud has acquired quite the work force,” he remarked, taking in the size of Arden, the quick, sharp glint to Feodor’s eyes, and Aeolos’ cool and patient stare. “He always was a hard-headed man, even back at the Academy.”

Feodor raised an eyebrow. “You _knew_ Daud?”

“At the Academy?” Aeolos asked.

Sokolov was almost bemused by the sudden change in their expressions; from solemn and practised, to intrigued and animated in an instant. Such changeability was a dangerous trait to find in anyone, let alone notorious killers. Sokolov reminded himself to exercise caution where it was due.

“Boss won’t speak a word of his time at the ‘cademy,” Arden added, coming to slouch against the cage. He mouthed a grin around his cigarette. “Reckon he’d kill us if he found out we’d asked you about it–”

“Don’t tempt me, Arden.”

Arden winced towards the door. “Boss,” he greeted.

Daud looked colder, sterner than the man Sokolov remembered meeting; worn and weathered by whatever life he had been living for the last fifteen years or so. Sokolov could see every experience in the lines of his face, in the old scars running jagged across his skin. If appearance alone could tell anything, Daud’s told Sokolov to keep his snide jabs and clever words to himself.

“Royal Physician.”

Sokolov turned attention to the familiar face stood beside Daud. “Admiral Farley Havelock. Tsk,” he clicked his tongue. “I should have known you’d do something so brash as kidnapping me, after the Regent dismissed you.”

“If memory serves right,” the Admiral said, a little curtly, “I dismissed myself. I’d never work under a tyrant like the former Spymaster. Which is more than can be said for you.”

Sokolov didn’t rise to it. He merely walked to the other edge of his cage, closest to the pair newly arrived. “And I must admit, I never expected a man like you to ally yourself with assassins, Admiral.”

“These are strange times,” Havelock answered. “Desperate times, thanks to Hiram Burrows.”

“You three,” Daud instructed, and Sokolov didn’t miss the way his men instantaneously stood to attention. Daud had always had that way about him, even in his early twenties. Authoritative. Not to be defied. “You’re dismissed. Keep watch of the District until we’re finished here.”

“Sir,” the three said in unison. Otherworldly shadows surrounded them, only for a second, and then they were gone from sight.

Sokolov blinked, fascinated. He had heard rumour of the strange abilities Daud’s people possessed, of course, but to actually see it...

“You’re even stranger than I remember you being,” Sokolov remarked, repressing a judder of unease as Daud’s cold eyes fixed on him. “How long has it been now, Daud? Fifteen years? Though I always suspected your connection to Burrows. He may have been the Spymaster, but I knew someone else had to have been doing the work. That weasel couldn’t have climbed as far as he did without help.”

Daud’s eyes narrowed, only marginally. “My people are finished with him.”

“As I can see,” Sokolov replied bitterly, looking to Havelock. “What is it you want with me, if I might ask, Admiral? Surely you know how foolish it was to bring me all the way here. I won’t be telling you anything.”

“All in good time,” Havelock answered, patiently. “We’ll get to why you’re here soon enough.”

“What happened to that hot-blooded man who threw his medal down before the Regent’s boots?” Sokolov scorned. “Perhaps hiding behind assassins has softened your edges. Tell me why it is necessary to you that I'm here,” he barked. “I will not be taken from my house and crammed into a cage like an unruly wolfhound without showing some of my fangs, Admiral. So I demand that you tell me why I’m here! Clearly, you are working against the Regent, or else you would not have targeted me.”

He scowled between Daud and the Admiral, challenging them.

“Unless I’m utterly wrong and you’ve both taken up painting, and are after some handy tips for brush work,” he added sourly.

Daud said nothing. He merely watched Sokolov with his cold eyes, as though working out where each of his weaknesses lay. Sokolov raised his chin, trying to appear undaunted under Daud’s scrutiny.

After a few moments, the Admiral laced his hands behind his back. He stood a good head taller than Sokolov, the Physician realised, as Havelock stepped closer to the cage. “Very well. We know you painted the Regent’s mistress a short time ago.”

Sokolov felt bile rise in his stomach. He had suspected they’d captured him merely to rid Burrows of the security he provided. The Watch Towers and Tallboys and Walls of Light. Sokolov hadn’t thought anyone even knew of Burrows’ affair with Lady Boyle. _Confound it_ , Anton, he cursed to himself, _you may be in more trouble than you recognized_.

Havelock smiled slightly, upon seeing Sokolov’s hesitation. “We need her name. You’re going to give it to us.”

~~~

The girl could throw a punch, Corvo discovered. He’d have a bruise on his jaw for a few days.

He rubbed the side of his chin, trying to relieve the pain. He soon tuned in to Emily’s string of apologies.

“–so sorry! I wasn’t aiming for your face, I didn’t mean to!” The young Empress’ words were muffled behind her hands, clasped over her mouth in horror. “I’m really sorry–”

“It was a good punch,” Corvo said, cutting her off. “Don't be sorry.”

Emily sighed in relief.

The yard had a good space to practice sparring, with its large area and nearness to the shore. The river’s breeze could reach them easily, though it didn’t seem to be making a difference to Emily. She had abandoned her over-shirt against the afternoon’s warmth; a baggy garment Finn had loaned her to replace her previous clothes. Emily looked like any other street kid now, and her hair was tied back messily to keep the heat off her neck.

Callista had insisted on not throwing Emily’s old, white outfit away, as though there would ever come a need for her to look like a noble during her stay here. Corvo thought it was a stupid idea, and he’d said so, until Callista had given him that look. He’d learned better than to argue when faced with it.

Emily cringed as she examined Corvo’s jaw. “Your face will bruise.”

“I'll probably survive," Corvo said, amused. "I've taken much worse.”

“Really?” Emily stared up at him, guilt replaced by her eager fascination. “When? From who?”

“Take your stance again.”

She stuck out her tongue, but did as he said. “That’s not a proper answer.”

“Not a proper answer at all,” Martin agreed from the sidelines. “How mysterious you make yourself out to be, Corvo.”

Corvo glared at the Overseer, who sat near Samuel’s makeshift quarters with a book in hand. Martin pointedly avoided his gaze, merely giving a furtive smile down at his readings.

He had joined them outside a while ago, announcing that he wanted to enjoy the afternoon sun. Corvo suspected he was bored; since planning Sokolov’s abduction, Martin had been scraping for things to keep himself occupied. _Errant mind_ , Corvo thought, the irony of accusing an Overseer of such a thing not lost on him.

“If you’ve got nothing helpful to say,” he warned.

Martin innocently waved a hand. “Sorry, sorry. Carry on, you two.”

Emily giggled, reminding Corvo of how quickly she had warmed to the Overseer in the last hour or so. She’d barely spoken to him before then. But Martin’s good-humoured slights throughout their sparring session seemed to have put him in Emily’s good books.

The Overseer had a talent for drawing people in. Corvo was proof of that.

“Right leg back a little more,” Corvo told Emily, altering his own position as an example, just as Rulfio had shown him. “Try and keep your dominant leg behind you. You’ll get more force behind a kick.”

Emily nodded, rapt as she listened.

Corvo examined her stance, then, satisfied, said, “Alright.”

He held up his hands, and Emily surged forward, aiming a kick for his right palm, then punching his left. She repeated the motions a few times, her movements becoming smoother, more focused with each swing. She was a fast learner, Corvo had discovered.

Without warning, he shifted his feet and lashed his leg out to trip her down. Emily’s eyes widened, and although she stumbled, she dodged out of the way in time and managed not to fall.

While she panted through her surprise, Corvo found himself smiling. “Well done.”

Emily breathed a laugh, pleased, when they both caught the sound of cheering from the rooftop above. Corvo folded his arms as Quinn, Arden and Feodor applauded the young Empress. Arden gave a particularly sharp whistle from between his thumb and forefinger.

Quinn leaned over the railings surrounding the roof. “Kid, you’re pretty good.”

“Better than 'ttano was at fifteen," Arden ribbed, "and what’re you? Ten?"

Feodor nodded. “Very impressive, my Lady.”

“Didn’t realise we had an audience,” Corvo said dryly.

“Do us a favour, your Highness, and knock this choffer on his ass once or twice,” Quinn said, shooting Corvo a grin. “None of us have been able to do it yet. It might do his ego some good.”

Emily smiled shyly at Quinn’s words. Corvo had noticed there were certain Whalers she didn’t mind. Arden was hard to ignore, with his brash and loud nature. Emily enjoyed listening to him curse bloody murder around the pub. Feodor was always courteous towards her, and Corvo felt it impossible for anyone to dislike Quinn. All three Whalers had made a valiant effort to make Emily feel more at ease around them.

“Go away and be useful,” Corvo called to them.

“Well, you’re lucky we have orders anyway, Attano, otherwise we’d come down there and join you. See how you faired three against one,” Quinn threatened, straightening up.

Corvo waved them off. “I’d win,” he said once they’d vanished.

A mischievous expression took place of Emily's shyness. “You really would?”

“Yeah.”

“But Arden’s so big!”

“Doesn’t matter. I know how they fight.”

The girl frowned. “But what if it’s someone you’ve never fought before. What do you do then?”

“Learn to trust yourself, to know what to do.” Corvo motioned to her, “Like you did. I attacked, you avoided. Your instincts are good.”

Emily brightened, as though she couldn't imagine a better compliment.

“But,” Corvo continued, and Emily schooled her expression into one of attentiveness at his tone. “You have to know when to fight and when to hold back. Or hide, or run. Figure out the situation first. There's more ways than just fighting.”

Emily nodded slowly, worrying her bottom lip. “Corvo?”

“Mm?”

“Even when I’m as good of a fighter as you are, will you still be there? To protect me?”

Corvo tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. “I will. I promised.”

Emily’s shoulders relaxed under his words. It scared him, acknowledging how quickly and easily he had come to care for the girl. He was as bad as Rulfio, he decided, thinking back to how completely the man had devoted himself to keeping Corvo safe as a child.

“Do you want to practice some more?”

Emily nodded eagerly, but Martin’s voice carried to them from across the yard.

“I don’t want to intrude, Corvo, but I believe you’re being summoned.”

Corvo followed the Overseer’s gaze to the old hound cages. He knew Daud was stood there before he saw him, judging by Martin’s slight sneer, and how quickly Emily had scurried to hide behind Corvo’s coat.

Daud gave a tight jerk of his head, ushering him over. Sokolov's interrogation wasn’t going well, then.

“Leave her with me,” Martin offered. “I’ll escort her to Callista. Our dear governess has been watching from the tower all morning.”

Corvo knew that already. Much to Callista’s chagrin, Emily had decided to go to Corvo’s tutoring first. That left the governess with the afternoon to persuade Emily into her lessons on the Strictures and the history of the Isles. Corvo had glimpsed her in the tower’s window now and then, tapping a finger against her arm and lying in wait to snatch Emily away from his precarious teachings.

 _Fighting is no lesson for an Empress_ , Corvo could hear her criticising.

“She’s just waiting to get her claws into you, Lady Emily,” Martin added as he glanced towards the tower in question.

His glib comment may have earned him another giggle, had Emily’s gaze not been fastened nervously on Daud.

Things were tense between the Knife and Empress, predictably so. Their reactions to coming across one another around the pub were painfully similar each time. They both seemed to stiffen, unable to look anywhere else for a brief moment, and then they went about avoiding each other entirely for the remainder of the day.

But Emily’s fear of Daud was needless, Corvo knew; Daud was far more afraid of her than she was of him.

“Do you have to go?” Emily asked Corvo quietly, her grip on the hem of his shirt easing.

“I’m afraid so.” He gave her a gentle push in Martin’s direction. “Do as Callista says. Don’t be a smart-mouth.”

“Like you?” Martin remarked over his shoulder, leading Emily away towards her tower.

Once they were both inside, Corvo blinked to the entrance of the cages. Daud had disciplined his expression back into its usual sternness, all trace of his discomposure disappearing along with Emily.

“How much has Sokolov told you?”

“Nothing,” Daud replied, unimpressed. “We may have found a man more stubborn than Rothwild. Or even you.”

“Can’t have that.”

Daud grunted an agreement. “I thought it best you joined us, and the Admiral agrees. You’re persuasive.”

"Persuasive?"

“You persuaded them all to ally with us.”

“I’d better not scourge my reputation, then," Corvo muttered. "No pressure.”

“If anyone can make him talk, it’s you. Fight fire with fire, so they say. Or stubbornness with stubbornness,” Daud supposed, opening the door before Corvo could grasp at a comeback.

Corvo glared and followed him inside.

The Admiral was less stone-faced than usual, Corvo noticed. The interrogation must have been going worse than Daud let on.

“Corvo,” Havelock greeted, looking somewhat relieved by the sight of him. “I don’t believe you and the Royal Physician have had a proper introduction.”

Corvo met Sokolov’s gaze from within the cage. The Physician’s eyes glinted with recognition when he saw him.

“But we have met. Recently,” Sokolov said, scathing. “I remember your bearing. Hard to forget a man who breaks into a house as heavily guarded as mine, and proceeds to abduct one of the greatest minds in the Isles.”

“You’re hardly that,” Corvo retorted, allowing Daud to shut the door behind him. He passed by the Admiral and approached the cage, standing head to head with Sokolov. “I’ve met greater minds than you by the handful.”

The Physician’s dark eyes studied Corvo from head to toe, his expression somewhere between a scowl and intense interest. “Your tattoos are quite unusual,” he remarked gruffly, eyes flitting down to Corvo’s left hand, then travelling to the exposed skin of his collarbone. “It is reminiscent of ancient relics I have studied along my travels. Something tells me there is much more to you than meets the eye. You wouldn’t also happen to be responsible for Campbell? Morgan and Custis?”

Corvo remained silent under Sokolov’s enquiry, allowing the Physician’s gaze to roam over him, hungry for answers.

“Young man. Corvo, wasn’t it? Tell me, how did you do it?” Sokolov asked. “It isn’t just anybody that can slip by a dozen guards like that. The High Overseer's office and Golden Cat are well secured, as is my home. And I had an Arc Pylon stationed on the lower floor.”

“Came in through your bedroom.”

“ _How?_ It's nearly fifty feet off the ground.”

Corvo, once more, didn't give an answer, and Sokolov released an exasperated breath, his beard bristling beneath his nose.

“I see you do not plan on giving me an apt explanation. Fine.” The Physician turned away from them and paced to the back of his cage, his shoulders hunched obstinately as he went. “Sorry, Admiral. I cannot help you. I have painted many people in my time, it’s true. You included,” he added back at Daud, “if you remember. Alas, I cannot be expected to recall each and every one of them.”

Corvo’s curiosity almost got the better of him. The Whalers had been searching for Daud’s rumoured portrait for years. Corvo had bet ninety coin that he’d be the one to someday find it.

But he reigned in the temptation to ask, and turned to the Admiral. “Leave us with him.” At Havelock’s uncertain frown, Corvo said, “We’ve dealt with more difficult men. We’ll get the mistress’ name.”

“What are you thinking, Corvo?” the Admiral asked carefully. He looked to Daud, who merely gave a nod. Havelock sighed, then granted Corvo a consenting nod of his own. “Very well. Just remember, we need him alive.”

He made his leave, and then Corvo heard a snort of derision from inside the cage

“You’re trying to intimidate me. I assure you, you’re wasting your time. I am far above such efforts,” Sokolov sneered.

Corvo glanced over his shoulder, and Daud gave him the slightest cant of his head. _All yours_ , Corvo had taken that particular gesture to mean. _Have at it_.

“You wanted to know about this, Royal Physician?” Corvo walked forward, raising his hand so that Sokolov could see the Outsider’s gift more clearly. He was aware of how the man’s eyes began to gleam at the prospect of answers. “And how I got into your house? I can give you answers, if that’s what you want.”

“While I confess this whole situation has piqued my curiosity,” Sokolov warned, “don’t expect to so easily coax me into telling you anything.”

“Coax you?” Corvo’s mark flared brightly, as he focused on the floor of Sokolov’s cage. He released his fist, summoning rats up from the shadows that had formed near the Physician’s ankles. “I thought I was trying to intimidate you.”

Sokolov jerked back in horror, staggering against the far side of the cage. As the rats fully entered the world, they sought out the closest warm body, scurrying Sokolov’s way with hungry teeth. The Physician leapt up onto the bars, crying out as the floorboards beneath him disappeared under the rats’ eager bodies.

“You’ve dabbled in plague study,” Corvo bid him, “You know what they can do. Give us the name of the Regent’s mistress, and I won’t let them strip you to the bone.”

Sokolov was in no danger. Corvo could call the rats off at any moment. But just like Rothwild’s interrogation chair, he also knew that stubborn men sometimes called for harsher persuasion.

“How about it, Royal Physician. Does that sound like a reasonable agreement?”

And when Corvo saw the blend of terror and disturbed enthralment in Sokolov’s expression, he suspected they would have the information before long.


	4. The Whaler

She tuned in and out of whatever Callista was reading to her. History? Geography? Boring, boring, _boring_ Seven Strictures?

Emily wasn’t sure. She liked the way the afternoon sun shone off the water.

Her tower at the pub was so much smaller than her room at the Palace, but Emily found she liked it better, even though she had to share the room with her governess when it was time to go to sleep. She enjoyed being so high up, far above the river. And she could see her old home from the window, but to her puzzlement, it didn’t make her feel sad anymore. Instead, she felt more... Distant. Detached. As though, here, she could pretend her life wasn’t her own, and that she had never lived in a fancy Tower, and she didn’t have to wear fancy clothes or do fancy things or talk to fancy people.

Except for Lord Pendleton, she supposed. But no one liked talking to him.

“Emily,” Callista chided, tapping on the desk to get her attention. “Listen closely, now. This is an important section.”

Emily mumbled an apology.

Yesterday had been a lot more fun than this. She’d spend all day fighting with Corvo if she could. He made her feel brave, like she was capable of anything. He never treated her like a delicate Empress. Emily much preferred his lessons.

But Corvo had disappeared with Samuel that morning. She wondered what he was doing, right now. He’d only told her that he needed to find something, a party invitation from someone in the Distillery District, back near the Golden Cat. Emily had wrinkled her nose at the thought of returning there. But she would rather be outside with him, climbing and running over the rooftops, than sitting at her drab little desk, learning about _how Morley trade works in connection to Dunwall_.

Emily remembered when she used to get into trouble for sneaking away from her tutors, to go on adventures around Dunwall Tower. She missed that, almost as much as she missed her mother’s scoldings for worrying her.

She jumped at the knock on the door.

“Come in,” Callista bid.

The door nudged open, and Lydia’s head poked around the side. “Sorry to bother you two. Lady Emily,” she greeted, bowing her head. “Cecilia and I could do with an extra hand, making Lord Pendleton’s dinner.”

Callista marked her page in the textbook. “He’s returned from his family’s manor, then.”

“Mm, came back last night. He’s getting tetchy waiting." Lydia gave a tut, adding, "And Cecilia dropped a wine bottle earlier, clumsy thing. That hasn’t helped his Lordship's mood, I can tell you that.”

Callista sighed, and slid the book in front of Emily. “Alright. I won’t be long, Emily. Stay here, and no wandering off,” she said pointedly. “Finish that chapter while I’m gone.”

Emily stuck her tongue out at Callista's back. The tower door closed, shutting her off from the adventures she could be having outside. She thought about how many unexplored places there must be around the pub...

She glared accusingly down at the book, and resigned herself to her dreary fate. She valiantly read a few more paragraphs, but it was all words, words, and more words. And the few pictures inside were just diagrams and charts. No monsters. No sword fighting. No pirates, or anything interesting.

Emily would outlaw all books like _these_ when she became Empress.

She glimpsed at the second door in the room. It led out onto the ruined part of the tower, above the beach. Callista always kept it locked, but... it could be reached from the window ledge _outside._

Emily grinned, sweeping the book to one side. She clambered onto the desk to unlatch the window, and then pulled the pane wide, squeezing through. She swayed with nerves and excitement as she stared down at the ground far below. She edged around the windowsill, turning her back to the river to hug the tower wall. She could do this. Corvo wouldn’t be scared, and neither would she.

Emily hopped onto the small ledge around the corner, on the other side of the locked door, and she began her decent through the tower’s ruins, hopping down further and further, freedom lying in wait and tantalizingly close.

And all too quickly, she became stuck.

Emily had gotten half way down the debris when she realised there was nowhere else to go without risking a broken ankle, or worse. And she wasn’t tall enough to climb back up.

She stayed crouched there for some minutes, trying desperately to find a safe route to the ground, when she heard someone clearing their throat below.

“What _are_ you doing?”

Emily blinked at the person standing amidst the ruins. She recognised the young Whaler. Very short hair, cut close to their scalp, pronounced cheekbones and pale eyes. She’d seen them around the pub, mostly with Arden.

“Uh,” she answered, helpfully.

“Are you stuck?”

“No.”

"Are you sure?" The Whaler sounded amused.

"Yes."

“Would you like some help?”

Emily raised her chin stubbornly, trying to look like she knew what she was doing. "No. I'm perfectly fine as I am."

“Lady Emily,” the Whaler began, giving her a smile without it quite reaching their mouth. It was more in their eyes. “Please allow me to help you down from there. You don't want your warden to find you there, she won’t be pleased.”

Emily tried not to snort at the image of Callista as a prison warden. “Hmph. If you can even make it up here,” she challenged.

The Whaler bowed their head, and then disappeared in a shadowy cloud, re-emerging on the ruined section of the wall beside her.

Emily flinched away in surprise. She kept forgetting that the Whalers could also do the things that Corvo could do. They all seemed hesitant to use their magic around Overseer Martin, though, so Emily rarely saw it.

“That looks very useful,” she admitted, secretly longing to be able do it herself.

“It certainly has its perks.” The Whaler offered her a hand. “Hold on, my Lady. Tightly.”

Emily did as she was told, and curled her other arm through the crook of their elbow. She gave a squeal of delight as they suddenly blinked through the air, landing safely at the bottom of the ruined tower.

The Whaler released her, and stepped back to a respectful distance. “There you are. Free.” They granted her another of those hidden smiles. “Forgive the interest, my Lady, but were you trying to escape?”

Emily pursed her lips. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” The Whaler did smile then, properly, and Emily found it a struggle not to smile back.

But it soon disappeared, when Callista’s exasperated call of her name carried down from the tower bedroom. Emily almost groaned in disappointment. She’d just gotten free. She wanted to be out on the beach, exploring in the sun. Not stuck inside, listening to those _boring–_

“My Lady.” She looked back at the young Whaler. “After all the trouble you went through getting down here, something tells me you don’t want to return to your prison cell,” they teased.

Emily felt heat rush to her cheeks, and she crossed her arms. “Maybe.”

“You can join me on my patrol.”

“Patrol?”

“I’m watching over this part of the District,” the Whaler explained, gesturing to the beach. “I’d be grateful for another pair of eyes, Lady Emily.”

Emily’s heart gave a rebellious tug as Callista called out her name once more. “You’re one of Corvo’s friends.” They looked around her age, if only a few years older. Emily had never had a playmate her own age before, even at Dunwall Tower. “A Whaler.”

“Yes. And I’m sworn to protect you,” the Whaler said, giving another small bow of their head. “You’ll be safe with me. There’s a small cave near the river that would make a perfect hiding place,” they added, offering their hand to her once more. “It might give you some protection from your warden for a few hours.”

As Callista’s voice cried out a third time, Emily placed her hand in the Whaler’s own, and grinned.

~~~

“Are you a boy or a girl?” Emily decided that the time for frankness had arrived. “I can’t tell.”

“Both,” they answered enigmatically, giving a shrug with one shoulder. “Or maybe I’m not either.”

“That’s impossible! You can’t be both. You have to be one or the other.”

“Do I?” the Whaler asked, amused by her confusion. “Would it make a difference to anything, if I _was_ one or the other?”

“I...” Emily looked away, frowning at the floor. She suddenly realised it probably wouldn’t make a difference. Not at all. “No. I suppose not.”

“Well, then. There we are.”

Emily found their smugness about it all strangely endearing. “How old are you?”

“Fourteen, my Lady.”

“I’m ten. Almost eleven,” she said proudly. “Callista said I’m too old to be reading about pirates and sea monsters. And even ghost stories,” she added. “But all the books she wants me to read are so boring!”

“You’re never too old to read ghost stories,” the Whaler said, very seriously.

“I’m going to make all Callista’s books illegal when I’m Empress,” Emily vowed, her oath echoing off the cavern walls.

The cave the Whaler had spoken of was cool and dark, providing them with refuge from the afternoon sun. It wasn’t particularly big, or deep, but it was enough to possess a ghostly, mysterious atmosphere, with the dark stalactites looming on the ceiling above, and the drip of falling water echoing around the cave now and then. Emily loved it.

“I have a better story,” the Whaler proposed after a moment. “According to my teacher, Chester, this side of the beach is haunted.”

Emily’s eyes widened gleefully. “Haunted?”

“When the sun goes down, he said there’s a woman that comes from the river. The bride of a pirate, drowned on their wedding night. And her spirit walks, up and down the beach all night.” The Whaler gave a nod when Emily’s lips parted, entranced. “There’s a veil that covers her face. Chester says a sailor once tried to take it off.”

“What happened to him? Did she kill him?”

“Not quite,” the Whaler said. “But after he saw her eyes, he went mad. Never spoke a word to anyone again. And he...” They stared over Emily’s shoulder, their face suddenly freezing in shock.

Emily felt a gush of terror, and she whipped around to see. There was only the empty cave behind her. The Whaler began chuckling.

“Your face,” they teased.

Emily glowered. “Is that story even true?”

“I don’t know.” The Whaler’s pale eyes gleamed when they tilted their head towards the cavern entrance. “Shall we come back one night and find out?”

Emily grinned, her embarrassment forgotten. “Yes.”

As well as her lessons with Corvo, she now had another thing to look forward to. It was nice to feel excited, like a child again even for just a small while. She hadn’t felt like one for months.

“I’m going to be in so much trouble when I get back.” They had spent the afternoon exploring the beach, racing one another in the shallow water. Now, they were nestled together at the back of the cave. Emily’s clothes were muddy and creased, and her hair was probably in a state. “So much trouble,” she sighed, though she couldn’t find it in her heart to care just yet.

“Tell them it was my idea, if you like,” the Whaler said. “I don’t mind.”

“But you’ll get into trouble.”

“Probably,” the Whaler agreed, eyes smiling at her in the cave’s low light. “But I don’t mind. Really.”

Something suddenly occurred to Emily, and she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “But don’t you... You work for Daud.”

The Whaler’s expression withered a little, as though they'd hoped the subject would come up later, rather than sooner. “Yes, I do.”

“You’re not worried about getting in trouble with him? He’s scary,” Emily confessed. “How can you work for someone like that?”

The Whaler considered it for some seconds, focused intently on the cave wall. “He looks scary, but he isn't. He gave me a home when I had nothing else. It might be strange for you to hear, but he’s not a bad man, my Lady.”

Emily stared at the Whaler, eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. She opened her mouth to argue, but they continued before she could speak.

“He’s made bad decisions and bad friends, like your Spymaster. But everything Daud’s done has been to protect us. Now he wants to make things right. Not that it will bring the old Empress back,” the Whaler added solemnly, “and he knows that. But he’s trying his best.”

Emily could hear the sincerity in their words. They truly _cared_ for him. For Daud.

“And, while we’re talking about it, let me say... I’m very sorry. For your mother.”

 _“You_ didn't do anything-”

“No. But even if I wasn’t there, I’m still sorry,” they said. “I don’t know if that all makes sense to you, my Lady, but–”

“Emily.” Emily smiled at the puzzled look the Whaler gave her. “We’re friends,” she decided, there and then. “You can call me Emily.”

They gave her a nudge with their shoulder, pleased. “Aeolos Wyman. You can call me Wyman.”

~~~

In the Distillery District, Corvo took Slackjaw's hand in his own. "We have a deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the first part, I hope it was good fun to read. Thanks as always to everyone who commented, left kudos, and just came to read it, I appreciate the support more than I can put into words, because I love writing this AU :)
> 
> Part 2 will be posted soon, as well.


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